When all is lost
by Morte Mistrata
Summary: A descisive battle. A horrible ending. How can life go on?


The scene was grim; Energon stained the ground, which was littered by what was left of the fighting soldiers. Both sides were evenly matched in victories and losses. Prowl surveyed the remaining soldiers. Bluestreak was missing an arm, yet he continued to shoot. His aim was impeccable; Almost at ninety-five percent accuracy. Ironhide was blinded, but he still fought hand to hand. Prowl doubted he would survive if Thundercracker wasn't grounded. Next to them, Trailbreaker sparred with Sixshot. They danced around the dead husks, missing each other more than they landed hits.

Jazz was still fighting, barely hurt except for a few dents. He ducked and sliced through Starscream's wing like it wasn't even there. Starscream screamed and shot at him blindly. Again he dodged each attack. Starscream fell and Jazz moved on. Prowl recalculated the odds; With Jazz still fighting, their odds of winning with no more casualties was high.

From the edge of his vision, he could see Onslaught charge at him. Onslaught was an attentive mech; of anyone, he expected him to notice that he was not in battle. Prowl didn't move; he had a seventy-five percent chance of decapitating him if he stayed still. Prowl extended his sword as he ran by. Onslaught fell to the ground, still leaking warm energon.

A rumble raced beneath his feet and he fell. He hadn't counted on that in his calculations, Prowl thought. Immediately he played back the feed. It matched up with the effects of Armada Artillery. Armada artillery was rare, and the only one the Autobots had was in Iacon. So it was the Decepticons, he deduced. Their chances decreased to Fifty-percent.

The skirmishes below paused as on the top of the opposite hill, a crumpled metal casing, likely the canon, came into view. Behind it Optimus and Megatron wrestled, exchanging punches faster than a normal bot could calculate.

As the Constructicons ran towards each other, Prowl knew his time was up; He couldn't decide on a strategy any longer. The Autobots needed support and he was the only one nearby who could.

He transformed, racing down the hill. His propulsion allowed him to transform in midair. He landed in the middle of Breakdown and Bee. Bee was losing, as was many others, but he had the smallest chance of defeating his opponent. Prowl attacked systematically, striking at his weak points. Breakdown landed on the ground with his swords extended, but unable to fight. Bee nodded his thanks at Prowl before returning to the fight. Prowl hoped the minibot would find a more equal fight.

He charged into the next fight on his list, between Cliffjumper and Skywarp. If not for Skywarp's teleportation ability, the fight would be evenly matched. Instantly he calculated the fastest way to decommission Skywarp. Prowl jumped at the spot that Skywarp had the highest probability of teleporting to with his sword extended. Skywarp appeared in the middle of his sword. As electricity dissipated, Prowl pulled his wing back. Skywarp disappeared again, this time not returning.

"Thanks." Cliffjumper charged back into the fray, continuing his job of removing the wounded from the battlefield.

The Constructicons were separated and now too wounded to form Devastator. He paused to find Prime. Now would be a good time to order a tactical retreat or call in reinforcements. At the top of the hill he had just left, a large cannon came into view. Abomination Artillery, he realized. He hadn't included that in his equations.

Prime and Megatron wrestled behind it. Megatron reached for the cannon and Prime pulled him back down. Likely they were at a stalemate, neither gaining an advantage. Then suddenly he did. Megatron pushed Prime out of the way and shot him with his cannon. Prime fell to the ground. Megatron was leaking but he still managed to move the cannon towards the battlefield.

A weapon that powerful would kill everyone down here, Autobot or not. Megatron was desperate. Prowl made sure to remember every detail, so they could log the data after he was destroyed.

The shot never came.

Jazz lunged at Megatron, knocking him to the ground. His chances of killing the Decepticon leader were slim to none; the most he could do was buy time for Prime to attack.

Megatron threw him to the ground. His visor shattered. Jazz shot at him, close range and still he hit him again. There was barely anything left to suggest that Jazz ever had a visor. Megatron's cannon glowed.

Prowl had a five percent chance of making it there. A twenty-five percent chance of saving Jazz. Still, he drove.

He was almost there, klicks away from them when Megatron fired.

He saw it in every way possible. Over and over, each time worse than the last. The blue energon spilling on the tainted ground. The clash of the sword running through him interlayered with the soft sigh of his system's last cycle. The dying light of his spark, the white light fading to nothing. Finally he couldn't take it.

His processor couldn't process it. Jazz was dead. He couldn't be dead. Jazz couldn't die. The internal pain, worse than he'd ever felt before, proved him wrong. He couldn't be alone.

He collapsed on the ground, unable to understand because _Jazz could not be dead._

Prime managed to stand and their fight began again. What did Jazz buy them? An extension to an inevitable death? Without him, their casualty rate rose to fifty-nine percent.

Megatron aimed his cannon at him as Prime pushed his arm back. He missed. This time. it was unlikely it would happen again.

"Prowl, move!" His leader cried. Megatron laughed.

"You'll join your sparkmate in the allspark, except you'll go out with disgrace. " He rumbled.

His words pulled him from his anguish, if only for a moment. He would not go out without avenging Jazz first.

OoOo

The drive home was silent; most had lost someone, be it friend or sparkmate. Those whose spark mates were elsewhere celebrated quietly as those who were now alone grieved. Still, there was that feeling of camaraderie because they had survived together. Prowl calculated that the group would work fifty percent better in the future.

Being one of the less injured, he helped carry the dead. He allowed no one else to touch Jazz and no one protested as he carried only his spark mate's husk.

Base was somber when they arrived. Not one squadron had come back without losses. Ratchet was elbow deep in wounded and his spark-numbing medicine was gone in less than a solar-cycle. Prowl was one of the few who did not take anything for the pain. No high-grade. No additives. He prefered to drown in his perfect memory instead. Over and over again he replayed the scene, trying different strategies, trying to find a way. There was none. All he could do was wait for another chance to tear out Megatron's spark.

He barely noticed as solar cycles passed, bots healed and the dead were honored. Time was meaningless. Those who grieved began to grieve in private, and those who still had someone to love began to love in public. He was never one to show affection or emotion period in public, so the transition went almost unnoticed.

Their berth room still smelled of Jazz. His special waxes and shines still sat on the shelves. The berth still had dents from their intimate times and compartments still held his spare insignia. He didn't dare to change anything, lest he forget something.

His spark ached for his other half to be there. In compensation, he overworked. Prowl acknowledged that he overworked, that it was bad for him; he couldn't find it in himself to stop. So, Prowl filled his days with filing and strategy. Prime always had his SIC ready at beck and call, he thought. At least his mourning helped bots.

Though he mourned alone, he knew he wasn't. Many others had lote mates or friends. Prime, Ironhide, Warpath, Arcee. All of them were alone, yet they still functioned fine. He couldn't understand. There were no datapads about a broken spark about missing a sparkmate. This kind of thing didn't happen before the war. All he could do was watch and try to understand how they did it. His research yielded nothing. It was after a meeting about the Crystal city crisis that he finally asked. "Sir, how do you deal with it?"

Somehow he didn't even need to explain. Prime knew. He had felt this pain cycles ago when Elita was murdered. It was even worse for him because he lost his sparkling too. "You can't deal with it. You can't ignore it. You've got to accept it so you learn to live with it."

He nodded and continued back to his quarters. He opened Jazz's compartment and stared through the mess for it. He wasn't sure if he could live with the pain. He reached in, finally singling out the red shape. He froze, his digit hovering over the autobot emblem. He had, he realized. He'd lived without Jazz and he could do it again, even if life was near empty without him. Especially if life was empty without him.


End file.
